


A Snake, an Angel, and a Monster

by MandalorianHybrid



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Friendship/Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:14:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25927978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MandalorianHybrid/pseuds/MandalorianHybrid
Summary: He may have been known as The Serpent Who Whispered to Eve, but Crowley had done far worse. And while the consequences of that "far worse" had rippled throughout human history, it may result in an unlikely ally he and Aziraphale could use in the coming troubles. Besides, who better to fight the Antichrist than the first monster ever created by God's hands? (TV series then further)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley/Original Female Character
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

**I**

_Thursday:_

_Two Days before "The End"_

"Got a better idea?" Aziraphale asked. "Got _one, single_ better idea?"

Crowley and Aziraphale sat within the small diner, Aziraphale nibbling on a piece of cake he'd ordered while Crowley wondered why he was always so in love with food.

The truth was, Crowley might have a better idea, but it wasn't an idea he was fond of. There are some doors that, once knocked upon, can never be closed again. Humans had a litany of metaphors for such instances, _opening a can of worms_ being among them, and that was what it would be. The trouble was, Crowley wasn't entirely certain he had a choice.

"I think I might know someone who can help." Crowley eventually admitted, sounding anything but enthusiastic about the prospect.

"Oh?" Aziraphale perked. "Who?"

Crowley took in a deep breath and let it pass between his lips, flapping them together as he exhaled to show his displeasure with the moment. He did it often when confronted with something mildly unpleasant.

"An old…" He paused.

The word ' _friend_ ' wanted to emerge, but Crowley was aware it wouldn't be accurate. They'd only ever spoken to each other on one occasion throughout the whole of time, and that hardly lent itself to friendship.

"Acquaintance." He conceded. "Finish up," he told his one and only real friend.

Crowley ran his fingers through his fiery hair and thought about what would eventually happen. Things wouldn't go well, he knew that much. The fact was, Aziraphale was an angel, and Crowley's vouching for the being may do more damage than good. Still, Crowley figured he might as well take the angel with him, though why, even he didn't know.

"Where are we going?" Aziraphale asked excitedly as he dabbed his lips a final time.

With a wicked smile, Crowley said, "Into the den of sin." His smile grew wider at the abject horror that spread across Aziraphale's face.

A loud, boisterous laugh left Crowley for the first time in a while. He couldn't help himself. Perhaps it was the demon in him that took such pleasure in disorienting the angel? Perhaps it had been the years of friendship? It might even have been simple boredom, he didn't know. He didn't care, either. Crowley would always love teasing the angel, getting his feathers in a twist.

* * *

_The Den of Sin_ was a nightclub, and while infinitely better than what Aziraphale had initially thought, it was still a place where he felt completely and utterly uncomfortable.

A line of humans stretched beyond the side of the building, disappearing somewhere around the corner. Crowley approached with confidence, his long legs carrying him the distance with ease. Aziraphale had always marveled at the way Crowley walked. It wasn't even a walk, really. It was more akin a stride, or perhaps even an amble. Whatever the phraseology used to describe such a casual saunter, Aziraphale wished –sometimes- that he could master one of his own.

_Angels simply weren't made that way,_ he would tell himself. He reasoned that demons could because they were no longer filled with God's light. It left them loose in the shoulders and long in stride. That was why all demons slumped in their chairs.

It might have been true. It might have been the truest truth about a demon ever as far as Aziraphale thought, but it was unlikely. Somehow, perhaps due to the sheer amount of time he'd known Crowley, Aziraphale reasoned that demons didn't walk with such ease and fluidity. Crowley did.

He followed behind the thin man in black, clasping his hands in front of his body and twiddling his fingers as he did. There was an itch at the back of Aziraphale's neck, a tickling sensation that he didn't like. It was because of his surroundings, he knew. Sin and debauchery had been commonplace for humans for thousands of years, and he'd grown to ignore it. In large groups, however, the feeling became greatly amplified. It stung at him, made him uneasy. In fact, it made him almost as uncomfortable as Crowley on consecrated ground.

Aziraphale lingered only a step or two back while Crowley approached a rather large man guarding the entrance to the establishment. He was an intimidating sort, tall, imposing, and as wide as the door he stood in front of. Aziraphale's eyes widened in surprise, but as usual, Crowley showed not a hint of apprehension.

"Arthur, my man!" Crowley said almost gleefully. The giant's gaze drifted to him and a smile soon shown on his face.

"Mr. Crowley," he said in a voice as deep and terrifying as one would expect. He offered Crowley his paw-sized hand and Crowley gladly shook it. "Are you comin' in, sir?"

"I am." Crowley nodded. Arthur nodded as well and reached for a rope that sectioned off the interior of the building from the out, then saw Aziraphale. All kindness had vanished from his gaze, and Crowley noticed. "Oh, he's with me."

"Hm," Arthur grunted. Aziraphale did his best to smile kindly, but he was shaken. He felt as though Arthur could eat him if he chose.

"The boss in?"

"Always,"

Crowley gave a nod and walked through the doorway when Arthur removed the rope. He'd made it a few steps inside before apparently realizing that his compatriot was no longer with him. His head appeared a moment later.

"Aziraphale," he said sharply. "Come on."

Aziraphale still struggled with the decision as to whether or not Arthur would attack before he –struck with an instance of bravery- joined Crowley inside the door.

"I don't believe your friend likes me much," he said to the demon.

"He doesn't like anyone. It's his job."

"Seems fond of you."

Crowley's lips curled back into a smile. "That's because I'm me."

Aziraphale tightened his mouth in disapproval, but said nothing else on the matter.

The hall they were in was dark. Paint had been splattered across the black walls, graffitied letters and lines. To Aziraphale's eyes, they had the potential of beauty, but the atmosphere stunted that.

"Now," Crowley said as they approached another door. "Stay close, alright? I'd rather not lose you in here."

Aziraphale nodded. His heart raced. He'd never been in such a place before and he didn't know how to comprehend it. He tried to prepare himself for what lay beyond the door, but his preparations were in vain. The instant Crowley opened the partition that separated him from the Den of Sin, Aziraphale was nearly bowled over.

Music, so loud it would deafen God Herself above, hit him. Aziraphale had to struggle to keep himself from falling backward under the force of it. He was instantly overcome with a dizzying world. People –more than he could count- undulated against one another while they danced in a sea of flesh. Others hung on poles and some stood on table tops.

Aziraphale's senses were overpowered –from music, to sights, to smells, and the ever-present thrum of the house music. He was wholly and completely unprepared, and practically clung to Crowley as a result.

The lanky demon pressed through the people until his patience clearly wore thin. When that happened, Aziraphale was relieved to see him snap his fingers. Their path instantly cleared and he was reminded of Moses and the Red Sea.

Given room, Aziraphale was able to catch his breath as best as he assumed he might, and continued to follow Crowley. He noticed his friend glance only briefly to the left. Aziraphale followed his line of sight and spotted something odd. A throne sat atop a dais, highlight by lights of its own, and vacant. It was an odd thing to look at, but noticeable, so perhaps not.

Aziraphale remained as close to Crowley as he could without stepping on the demon's heels, though he struggled with that more than once. He couldn't put into words how badly he didn't wish to be in the Den of Sin.

Crowley finally reached the end of the path he'd created. Before them stood another door, this one labeled with gold letters indicating that only employees were allowed beyond that point. Aziraphale said as much, but he couldn't be certain Crowley heard him. It didn't seem he had when he planted his palm against the slick black surface and pushed.

They were presented with another hall, though this was brightly lit and far more visible. The music began to fade behind them, which Aziraphale appreciated greatly.

Near the end, after a short turn, Crowley paused before yet another slick black door. He spun to face the angel.

"Look," he said with all seriousness. "The person on the other side of this door isn't a person at all. It's a demon, alright?"

"A de-…" Aziraphale was shocked. "Crowley, another demon? They can't know about this or." He motioned between them. "Us."

"This," Crowley mimicked the action, "Will be the least of our problems. Trust me. Just," Crowley paused and took a breath. "Be prepared."

Aziraphale offered a shaky nod. In it, he felt he gave Crowley the only answer he could muster at the moment.

Crowley gave a sharp, far more concise nod, then pushed open the door. They entered a space that was worlds different than where they'd come from, but the evil smelled thicker, more prominent and yet the angel somehow managed to push beyond it in favor of the fantastical space.

Everything held Aziraphale's attention. It was beautiful and enchanting, a true garden if there ever was one. He didn't even mind the large snake coiled on a felled tree in the corner, basking in his artificial sun.

The space was two floors high with a pathway that wrapped around the second floor, similar to a library. It even had books! Wonderful books on dark wood shelves, all glossy and shined so the old spines looked even more ancient. And knick knacks, and treasures, and paintings and pictures. But the plants were the center of it all, the thing that connected everything else, layers and layers of green.

A thousand different kinds of vines hung from a thousand different places. Tropical plants with leaves as big as Aziraphale's face sat in intricate pots. Some of their leaves were split and filled with holes, others had a cacophony of colors ranging from red and emerald green, to yellow and the brightest white.

Then the snake itself, beautiful in its design, was a Black Whip Snake. It was narrow, but curled on coils upon coils. Its black scales glowed in the light, shining blue in some places. He was enchanting and just added further proof, in Aziraphale's mind, that God had created a beautiful world.

"Hello, sweetheart." He heard Crowley say.

His voice drew Aziraphale's gaze forward to the young woman sitting at a desk. Her legs were up, ankles crossed and resting on its surface in part, possibly, to show off her impressively dangerous-looking heels. She stared back at the two through mirrored lenses. Aziraphale recognized her immediately.

With long legs wrapped in tight black leather, a black, loose-fitting tunic hanging from her shoulders, and waves of dark hair that fell beyond sight, her white skin (not pale, mind you, practically white) shined in stark contrast. She looked a proper 'rocker', like one of the many in the club a few yards away, but he knew the truth. Despite the modernity of her wardrobe and her surroundings, despite part of him screaming it couldn't be true, Aziraphale knew she was, knew that the evil he felt emanated from her.

"Lilith," He stammered the name.


	2. Chapter 2

**II**

In the beginning, God created Adam and Lilith. Born from dust and the Earth itself, they were an experiment to be later named Man.

Still fussing with aesthetics, God decided to mix things up a bit. Adam would be male, tall, slender, and filled with rolling muscle hidden beneath a dark, dusty layer of skin. He would be adorned with parts other male species had, but with a brain intelligent enough to identify things, to learn, and absorb information. His jaw would be strong and sharp, his eyes dark but keen, and his hair… no. No hair. Instead, it would be closely shorn, only casting a shadow of hair.

He was perfect.

For Lilith, the female of the Human species, God went for something a bit different. Instead of the dusky skin, she chose something a little lighter, wrapped around a voluptuous frame. Lilith's shape was softer, from wide hips capable of bearing a thousand children, an ample chest to nourish them, and narrow waist. Where She hadn't given Adam hair, God chose long waves of sun-colored locks for the female.

They were to be the first draft for humanity.

Adam was a hunter and gatherer, while Lilith was meant to be a nurturer, but it became clear early on that she had little interest in the task she'd been given. Contention rose between Adam and Lilith as time-not-yet-time persisted. It had become so bad, in fact, that Lilith was soon banished from Eden and replaced with Eve, made from Adam's own rib, and much more subservient.

Aziraphale knew Lilith. He'd met her once before, when God turned Her back on The First Woman, shunned her and turned her into the demoness that now sat before them.

Lilith leaned her head a bit to the side and Aziraphale knew he'd been spotted. The very air shifted.

Lilith dropped her feet to the floor with a loud thud and rose.

"I remember you," she said with a soft, delicate voice. "You were the one who banished me, aren't you?"

Lilith glided around the desk and soon stood only a few feet from Aziraphale. He opened his mouth to speak, but immediate words weren't forthcoming. Instead, he stammered and forced an awkward smile or two as he tended to when being confronted.

" _Technically_ ," He was sure to stress, "I merely saved Adam's life."

"Oh," Her condescension was undeniable. Lilith arched a thin brow. "You were just saving his life."

"Well, you'd have killed him." Aziraphale was almost desperate to explain himself, though he had no idea why. She was a demon, now –apparently. Yet, he had flashes of the woman she once was in his mind. "Wouldn't you?"

"Gladly," she told him, sending a shock of ice down his spine. Aziraphale's face dropped. Crowley's attention shot to her. Clearly, neither of them had expected her to say that. "In a few rather inventive ways."

"Oh, dear Lord." Aziraphale mumbled.

"And his little wife," Lilith replied. She turned her attention to Crowley. "Why are you here? And with an angel, no less."

"Need your help for something."

"Is that so?" She didn't seem amused, and in truth, Aziraphale didn't blame her. They were being rather rude, intruding on her as they were. Lilith leaned against her desk and crossed her arms over her chest. "With?"

"Armageddon." Crowley instilled the necessary tone to illustrate how dire the situation was, but again, Lilith couldn't seem bothered.

"Is that what that was?" she asked far too casually for Aziraphale's liking. "Felt a shift. Wondered what it was. Why would you need my help? It feels like it's already underway."

"That's what we're hoping to stop," Aziraphale said.

This time, both of her brows rose over the rim of her sunglasses. Aziraphale was unnerved at seeing his own reflection in them. Not even Crowley wore mirrored lenses, but he didn't have to worry about it for long.

Lilith tenderly gripped the outermost edges of a lens and slid her sunglasses down her narrow nose. Bright red eyes shined back at him, the reason for the glasses in the first place.

"And… that's bad," she said slowly and uncertainly.

"Well… yes." Aziraphale stammered.

Confusion took her while she removed the glasses entirely. There was no need to conceal her real eyes any longer, not in their company, though Aziraphale had to admit that they made him uncomfortable. He'd grown used to Crowley's eyes through the centuries upon centuries despite their reptilian appearance. Lilith's, on the other hand, were red and not just simply _red_. They were the color of Hellfire, a pulsing shade that encompassed two irises, barely surrounded by white, and lacking a pupil.

She truly was a beautiful "young woman" with a perfectly shaped face, full lips, defined cheeks, and all other things human's found attractive –all save those eyes.

Unsettling, to be sure.

"I thought this was what everyone was waiting for?" She continued to pry, once again crossing her arms. "Isn't it? The Big Battle to End all Battles."

"We don't want it to," Crowley said sharply, diverting her Hellfire gaze. "Look, if it's all the same to you, we'd rather the world keep spinning."

"And why come to me? I've nothing invested in this war. Truthfully, I hope it happens."

A very real chill raced down Aziraphale's spine. She was so cold and callous. It was as though no humanity remained within her, and given the length of time she'd been a demon, it was possible. How she began life no longer seemed to matter.

"You can't mean that." Aziraphale couldn't keep the dismay from his voice.

She stared at him as though she couldn't believe he'd said something so stupid.

"A chance to see all of their children perish and watch God's precious world burn?" she asked with a sarcastic, cruel laugh. "I'd relish it."

Aziraphale was utterly flabbergasted, truly dumbfounded that she could be so callous. Crowley was simply angry.

"We'll lose everything. Your precious plants," He swept his arm around the room, showcasing everything. "Your animals, all of it will be gone. If Heaven wins, we all die. If we win, it will be Hell on Earth. Is that what you want?"

Her face twisted into a scowl, still disarmingly beautiful when it should have been ugly to see.

"How dare you come into _my_ house demanding _my_ help stave off the Apocalypse, something that's been written since The Beginning, with an angel who helped banish me." She snapped back angrily. Aziraphale could see the two demons were losing their tempers with one another. "We've met _once_ Crowley, decades ago, and you somehow think that entitles you to a favor?" She scoffed and shook her head. "Fallen, you're all alike."

She shoved herself away from the desk and turned her back on them. She silently dismissed the two as she headed for her chair, but Crowley hadn't finished. He was seething, and for the briefest of moments, Aziraphale had become afraid that he'd do something rash, something the angel couldn't prevent.

"Listen to me." He slammed his hands down on her desk seconds after she regained her seat. Lilith stared up at him warningly. "I have known you longer than _anyone_ walking this Earth and I am asking you for help."

Lilith leaned forward in a challenging manner, resting her arms on the lacquered surface. She and Crowley were inches apart, but neither of them seemed willing to submit to the other. Aziraphale knew Crowley never would and he highly doubted Lilith was of a compromising or weak constitution.

"Don't lie to me, Crowley," she said to him calmly. "I've known that angel longer, so don't lie to me, alright?"

Crowley snatched his glasses from his face and dropped them onto the desk with a gentle clack. He stared at her unblinkingly.

"Look me in the eyes," he said in a somber, yet angry tone. "And tell me you don't know me."

Lilith's brows had tugged together the instant she saw them. Aziraphale noticed the shift and the way she leaned back. Confusion was a powerful emotion and it could make a human react any number of ways. From his experience, it made a demon react in one: violence.

But she didn't. She didn't do anything, in fact, except stare at him. Aziraphale watched as a bevy of emotions crossed her face and recognition was amongst them. Crowley must have spotted it too because he stood upright a moment later, looking down at her from his stance.

"The Serpent," she said. Her voice had lost all of its confrontational edge. " _You_ were The Serpent."

Crowley cocked a brow rather arrogantly and nodded. Lilith slumped, sinking into her seat. Her gaze drifted to something else, something in the distance, while she thought.

Minutes passed, and the longer time continued, the more fearful Aziraphale became. Her answer wasn't forthcoming and it worried him greatly, but every time he looked to Crowley, he saw nothing but calm. He envied it, or at the very least, the ability to fake it.

"What do you need?" Lilith finally asked in a somber voice.

The wave of relief that swept though Aziraphale had been immediate, so strong a smile formed on his lips.

"You have people?" Crowley said. He was back to business as though the divergence of topic never happened. "Powerful people?"

"Some," She nodded, finally meeting his gaze.

"We're looking for a boy, born eleven years ago yesterday near Oxford," he told her.

"Is that all the information you have?"

He nodded and she didn't seem pleased. Aziraphale understood. It truly wasn't much in the grand scheme of things. How was one meant to find a single child out of hundreds of thousands? It did seem hopeless sometimes, but Aziraphale always held hope in his heart.

"I'll see what I can do," she said.

"Oh, thank you." Aziraphale said quickly, showcasing how much better he felt in that moment. Her fiery gaze landed on him and her expression remained unchanged, but he thanked her multiple times regardless.

She seemed as comfortable with his gratitude as Crowley did when it was offered.

"When you leave, go to the left," she said to Crowley. "No need for the angel to faint stepping through the club."

Crowley smirked. He reached for his sunglasses and gave Lilith a small wink before he slid them into place. Lilith was unmoved by the action and watched them leave silently.

Aziraphale was glad for the detour she offered, especially when the nice, cool air of London graced his face again. As he basked in it, he heard Crowley speak.

"Come on," he said, beckoning Aziraphale to follow, which he did.


End file.
